Love, life's sweetest reward. Let it flow, it floats back to you.

I've utilised the zoom a little bit to see what's happening up there on the bridge. If you look very closely, I think that you can just about see Captain Stubing chastising "Gopher" Smith for another of his whacky, harebrained schemes.

I do like the fact that Gopher somehow made it into Congress after The Love Boat went off air. It seems odd to me that Captain Stubing didn’t somehow end up President though.

Similarly, it seems a great shame to me that Barack Obama became the first African American President, instead of Jimmie Walker (J. J. Evans in Good Times). Don’t tell me that the inauguration speech couldn’t have been livened up with a “Dy-no-MITE” and a spin.

Comments

yournotalone said…

I heard that even Tasmnia got over 42 Celsius. Must be tough.

2 February 2009 at 17:00

Maria Verivaki said…

nice title today

2 February 2009 at 17:21

Kris McCracken said…

Aigars, yeah, it was very hot the past couple of weeks, back down to 17 degrees Celcius today, and everyone is wearing coats!

They complain that it's too hot, then they complain that it's too cold, they complain that there is no rain, then they complain that it rains too much.

It seems hard to please people.

3 February 2009 at 12:20

Kris McCracken said…

Kiwi, one of the best theme tunes out!

3 February 2009 at 12:20

Anonymous said…

This is the fun part of any departure. One hour of pre checks and then stand around waiting for someone to come and let your lines go. Usually another hour. Still you get to talk to each other, and the Pilot, if you are lucky enough to know him. That is the Australian way. I don't know about this lot. I think you speak when spoken to. The way we used to be. Thank God for change.

4 February 2009 at 21:51

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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